


The Outsiders

by sugarteabear



Series: Gods and Warriors [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, ngl to ya'll this is a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarteabear/pseuds/sugarteabear
Summary: "If an Outsider wields the blade, the House of Clooties burns..."Hunted and alone, Waverly is desperate to find her missing sister; but the Gods have other plans. Her quest takes across the treacherous seas, far beyond where she wants to be. All she knows is that somebody wants them both dead. Stranded on an island, her murderous enemies are closing in. Her only friend is a girl on the run. And her only guide is a wild dolphin.(This is based off of the book series "Gods and Warriors" by Michelle Paver; I just want people to love it)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Any mistakes are mine, and I apologise in advance!

Waverly clenched her teeth, trying to ignore the savage pulse of pain in her upper arm; she knew that if she didn't, she'd whimper. And if she did that - she couldn't. It wasn't an option. She couldn't afford to draw attention to herself, and so the head of the _freaking arrow_ remained embedded beneath her skin, almost tauntingly. A cruel reminder of what she had faced.

Waverly clutched at it as she stumbled under towering trees, maneuvering awkwardly down a rocky slope. It seemed to help ease the pain, but it wasn't enough - it bit and it stung, clawing up and down her arm. A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she almost lost her footing twice; she realised then that the severity of the pain was interfering with her thoughts, making her vulnerable and partially useless. She had to take it out.

 

"Oh jeez," Waverly breathed out at once, eyes widening on the foreign object jutting from her forearm. She'd have to physically remove the arrow herself. _How?_ How could she possibly do that without throwing up? _If Wynonna - no. Don't think about that._

 

Quickly - and as smoothly as an injured person could - Waverly ducked out of view of the slope she'd been travelling down, further into the bushes, until she could slump against a tree. Crushing some yarrow from a nearby plant, Waverly took a deep breath to prepare herself for pulling the arrow...

Her fingers loosen on its shaft at the last second however, before she takes another deep breath - one of courage - and... Again, she chickened out. _If only Wynonna and_ \- this time, she yanks the arrow out clumsily and beats the ground.

 

 

//

 

_Stupid. Foolish._

Waverly remains seated on the ground, applying the crushed thyme to her wound. She was lucky that it hadn't been lodged in her bone - an injury like that would not have been so easily fixed.

No pain, though, could compare to the fresh wave of concern and grief Waverly felt - the rising concern over her elder sister, and the aching grief over their sheephounds, Griffin and Woods. She could scarcely believe what had happened that morning, she didn't want to believe what she had seen - as if, perhaps, she'd wake up to find that everything was one big, bad dream. But it couldn't be a dream, could it? Otherwise the absolute agony over that wretched arrow would have yanked her back to reality... Waverly wanted so badly for it to be over, for the pain to end, but she was - over everything - a realist. She couldn't fool herself even if she wanted to.

But for as long as she could remember, it had been her and Wynonna against the world. As sheepherders - no, as _Outsiders_ \- they were forbidden from entering the village; their job was to watch over the sheep - all day, every day. Waverly was okay with that, because she loved her sister and their dogs, she even loved the sheep and the mountains on which they lived - Wynonna, though, held onto a greater hope, one where someday their mother would return to them, and they would belong again. Waverly never pointed out that she felt like she already belonged - on these mountains, with each other - and she never admitted that she could not remember their mother. No matter how often Wynonna recounted her one and only memory of the woman they should both love, Waverly's mind drew a blank. But she pretended to miss their mother too, just to make her sister feel a little less alone. Neither of them could remember their father, but Wynonna was never as desperate to cling onto a version of him. Regardless, to Wynonna their family on the mountains was incomplete; to Waverly, it had never felt more perfect.

And now? Now Griffin and Woods were dead, and Wynonna was gone. Waverly was alone for the first time ever, and she truly felt it. The last memory that she has of them all - of her family - burns brightly and harshly in her mind; it's one of early morning greetings and groans, of gentle teasing and playful affection:

 

Wynonna had sprained her foot just two days beforehand, and Waverly had taken over most of their shared responsibilities (although Wynonna always said she split the duties evenly, somehow the older sister always managed to give herself more work). Ever since the accident, she'd also seen to her sister's every whine and demand - and Wynonna had snorted when Waverly complained about it (" _Seriously_ sis, I'm not your freaking slave - for goodness sake, you are more than capable of calling Griffin over yourself!").

This morning would be no different, which is how Waverly found herself rolling away from Wynonna's continuous pokes (pokes which started lightly and ended in heavy jabbing, demanding attention from the snoozing, younger Earp), only to smash her face into Wood's rump. Wynonna had cackled and the dogs had barked, wagging their tails in furious excitement - morning was their favourite time of day - desperate to lick the girl's faces in greetings. Waverly had thrown on some old clothes, grabbed Wynonna's catapult because being bed-bound meant that she couldn't fight for it back, and headed off to the stream. The dogs were more than eager to follow, but Waverly had commanded them to check on the sheep first - her heart clenched at this. Had she scratched Griffin's neck the way she liked or kissed the top of Wood's head as she had always loved as a pup, before watching them walk away from her one last time? _Had she?_

Because no more than minutes later would she return, rushing back with her heart in her throat after the sudden commotion of frenzied barking, to find them dead, lying slumped beside one another, numerous arrows - of the same kind Waverly now gripped tightly in her hand, the one they'd shot at her too - impaled in their flanks. She'd felt her knees buckle then before she'd even registered the loss, and she was more than prepared to give up, give in - throw herself down and scream and sob - until she saw Wynonna.

Huddled in the cave they'd made camp at for the night, staring wide-eyed and helpless at... Waverly didn't know who they were. She'd never seen people of their kind before. How many of them were there? _A dozen? More?_ They held themselves like Warriors would, as if they had no fear - as if they could control everything and anything - and she could tell by their build that they wore heavy armour.

Most notable of all (though she could only see their backs) were the long, black cloaks they all had - only one was speckled gold, which Waverly assumed meant the Warrior it belonged to was higher up on their hierarchy.

Most frightening of all were the weapons - ranging from swords and axes and bows - and if she'd had doubts before, she knew for certain now: these were the vile creatures who'd murdered her dogs, her family. And they would murder her sister too, she was sure of it. They'd descended on their camp with no regards, as if it had belonged to them, and now they prowled. Hungry for more. Wynonna was easy prey; too slow to escape with an injured leg, defenceless without any weapons. Waverly suddenly felt awful for taking her catapult. Looking from their dogs to Wynonna, she felt the fury which had begun to bubble explode in her chest - Griffin and Woods had died protecting a member of their pack, and Waverly would be damned if she let that be in vain. Taking one last look at Wynonna, she ran into the clearing.

 

"Over here, you _massive shits,_ ," she'd screamed with such ferocity and certainty, but that wavered when each Warrior - when each Murderer - turned to face her, revealing scarlet red paint coated around their eyes. She was horrified, but didn't have enough time to stop and think about it, because it had worked - arrows whizzed past her and footsteps slammed thunderously against the ground behind her as she lead them away from her home.

 

//

 

In hindsight, Waverly thought to herself as she remained sat in the overgrowth, she probably shouldn't have called them shits... and massive ones at that. Wynonna would be so furious. But she'd been angry too - livid, even- and very, very scared (they outnumbered her, both in themselves and with their weapons, and they were threatening enough without that advantage). Wynonna had always said her worst quality was her tendency to lash out when times became rough - or when she felt vulnerable, or defensive, or angry, or sad, or... Okay, so, she did it a lot. But in her defence, they were supposed to be working on it - apparently she needed to be able to keep a level-head. Waverly had rolled her eyes then - but now it had almost gotten her killed.

Snapping from her thoughts, Waverly growled to herself. _Keep it together._

She stood up, sharply yet carefully, and strained to hear her surroundings. _You have to keep your wits about you._

Growing up on the mountains with little to do but watch sheep, Wynonna had eventually taught her about how to survive in the environment of which they lived, including how to listen - how to really listen - to her surroundings; to pick up even the slightest of sounds and be able to distinguish between them.

As it was, Waverly could hear the wind as it changed and rustled the bushes and trees and grass, she could hear the distant call of a wolf (and desperately wished it would stop, because it reminded her painfully of her sister and of Griffin and of Woods) and the busy hum of the village. No heavy boots, no clattering of weapons. Somehow, Waverly had lost them, and she finally felt like she could breathe easy again - but not for long, for she had to find her sister.

Somewhere, Wynonna would be freaking out that she'd put herself in danger (that was the job of big sisters only, apparently), but Waverly had done it for her - _and_ she'd pulled it off. Wynonna would have to be a little proud of her. 

With one last glance at the arrow in her hand, she snapped it with meaning and threw it as far as she could manage. She was free, and she hoped, maybe naively, that that would be the last she saw of the Murderers in black.


	2. Chapter 2

As Waverly clambered back to the slope, she realised she was well and truly torn. More than anything, she wanted to go back to their camp; she needed to bury Woods and Griffin, and she needed it to be done properly. How could she live with herself if she just left them as meat for the wolves? For the lions? The thought clawed at her heart and anguish bubbled in her throat. She couldn't. They were _family_.

But, Wynonna was family too - and they were all each other had now.

Waverly couldn't risk heading back, to the place where the chaos had erupted, to the place where her dogs lay, no matter how much she wanted to; because it was all too possible that it'd be a trap. 

If she returned only to die, Wynonna would never forgive her.

_No_ , Waverly decided, somewhat reluctantly. _I have to find Wynonna_. 

_But how? Where?_

She fiddled with the catapult in her hand, tracing the wood where Wynonna had carved a mark. It was supposed to be of a wolf, and - and then it hit Waverly all at once.

_The village_.

Wynonna often compared herself to her favoured creatures. Loyal to the ones she loved, fiercely protective of her pack, trustful of her own instincts. Waverly never believed she was wrong – because sometimes, in the dark of night, she’d be able to see flickers of a wolf’s spirit burning in her sister’s eyes. She had never feared it before, but it did mean that Waverly had spent the whole 14 summers of her life so far steering clear of contact with the townspeople. Whenever they had to, the older sister would go alone.

(“They’re not good people,” Wynonna would growl, “I can feel it _here_.” She’d point to her heart then.

“But… They let us look after their sheep?” Waverly would question, curious and eager to learn more about her sister’s instinctive nature.

Wynonna would just shake her head, knowing all too well that Waverly wasn’t really at all interested in the townspeople. “It’s a _need_ , baby girl – they need us, and they can spare us. The village, their community – it’s just a trap.”)

And yet one day, summers ago, after a nasty run in with a lioness had them separated for hours, Wynonna had said; “If that ever happens again, Waverly, head straight to the village. Okay? I’ll always find you then.”

_The village_.

_Head to the village_.

Though the plan didn’t sit all too well with Waverly, she could appreciate that the decision was one made with the mind; mind and heart don’t always agree, but that didn't always make one wrong. It just made it hard.

With her own heart feeling heavy, Waverly took one long look at the slope behind her. It wouldn't be the last she saw of it, surely. Wynonna would be smart enough to head to the village, she wouldn't let her distrust of the townspeople endanger her life – and once sister and sister were reunited, they would return here. Together. 

//

A body amongst the bushes stopped Waverly in her tracks. She hadn’t been walking for too long, but she had taken note of the signs of struggle, the alarmingly fresh drops of blood on the path behind, and her heart had been pounding erratically ever since. But now, for one painstakingly long moment, it seemed to stop, abruptly, and her breath caught in her throat. She couldn't make out much, but the uncertainty had her mind racing - it couldn't be her sister. It _couldn't_.

Waverly wouldn't know how she would survive if it was. 

She crept closer.

And closer.

Even closer -

The corpse breathed. 

Waverly bit her tongue to stop her scream and jerked backwards, stumbling. She tore her gaze away in haste, stomach turning in unsettlement as she scrunched her nose. 

Wynonna had always said, rather cryptically, that the death of a human had its own stench, overpowering yet indescribable, all at once. It hadn't made much sense to Waverly at the time - if you can’t describe it, then how do you know what you’re experiencing? How can you ever be _certain_?

In response, Wynonna would simply squeeze her shoulder; "You don't just smell it, baby girl, you feel it," and then she'd smile, but it would never quite reach her eyes; "I hope you never do,"

_Well. It was too late for that._

The smell of fresh blood from the body was bad - really bad - but there was something which coated it that put Waverly on edge – and she knew it wasn’t quite the scent of death, but the promise of it.

And if it was a promise? Waverly couldn’t break it; she couldn’t change it. There was nothing she could do.

The body goes to speak, but the words are lost, croaked out. She could make out the faint gargling of blood... Or maybe that was just fear?

"P-please... help me..." It's laced in an accent Waverly’s unfamiliar with, but the voice was deep and gruff and absolutely nothing like Wynonna's. The realisation almost made her grin out of utter relief - almost. Because there was a body not even an arm’s length in front of her and now wasn’t the time for celebration.

Mustering up enough courage to do so, Waverly's eyes found the dying man's. His are glazed over, in agonising pain, and yet they remain seeing - he stared at Waverly as if he had met her before, as if he knew everything there was to know about her. Past, present, and future. All at once. It was unnerving. His face, scrunched and smeared in blood, looked youthful; he had no beard, but his long hair, just a shade lighter than Wynonna's, more than made up for it.

The only thing that really jumped out at her was the notch on his ear.

She swallowed uncomfortably. 

"Child, please -" he said, body shaking slightly, "hide me,"

For a brief moment, something flashed in her mind – a strange and encouraging weight trying to guide her. But Waverly was _not_ Wynonna, she did _not_ have wolf in her spirit, and she did _not_ blindly follow her instincts. So she hardened her heart instead. "I-I can't. They can’t – I have to go," Waverly tried to draw back, but somehow the his fingers had found her own and his grip tightened. 

He had considerable strength for a man who's every breath sent him closer to the end.

"I... don't come from here. My home, Keftiu -" He paused, and for a moment Waverly panicked, certain that he'd taken his last breath; but he must have been searching for recognition in her features, "Don’t you know it? It is a grand island! Big and rich and powerful and... So far away. All the way across the sea" His gaze latched onto Waverly's and she lost herself in the intensity. "Please help my spirit find peace, don't - don't let them win!"

The hairs on the back of Waverly's neck rose and the dull thudding of pain in her arm sharpened.

_Them_?

_Why did it always have to be Them_?

He mistook her silence for agreement.

"I will... Give you my dagger. A very, very valuable knife. I stole it, so you must keep it safe and hidden. But please, I beg you-" He spluttered once, twice, and weakly wiped the spit around his mouth "-help me."

_Fudgenuggets_.

A dying wish, as it turned out, was a very powerful thing; and the weight of it sat heavily in Waverly's chest. She couldn't find it in herself to ignore it, especially given that she was in desperate need of a knife - a catapult would provide little protection if she met Them again.

Yet Waverly also knew that she had to work fast. Time was limited.

Looking around, she realised there wasn't really anywhere to hide him - she couldn't guarantee him freedom from the wild animals that would, eventually, find his body, even if They did not.

She'd just have to look harder, think harder.

She ventured further beyond him, into the dense undergrowth which stretched out far beyond her field of view - as a kid, she had thought it endless. She'd thought that Lykonia, her home, was all there was to the world.

Wynonna completely flipped that around, having taught her it was just one part of a huge island called Akea, and that it wasn't even the only island in the world. It delighted Waverly to no end, and even though she never, ever wanted to leave the mountains, each night she would dream of travelling across the world. 

She loved those dreams. They were exhilarating and left her heart soaring. Except… recently she found that, when she awoke, she couldn’t recall them as vividly. She knew that, when she was dreaming, she could feel a sharp pang of loss, and each time this pain was softened only by a blur of red hair; but Waverly couldn’t remember any aspect of the figure, or the dreams themselves, when conscious. It was, frankly, frustrating and -

Waverly's foot hit soft mud and she quickly decided that it would have to do. She started digging, clawing at the earth, and willed her muscles to work harder - painfully aware that the process would have been so much quicker with her dogs by her side. Numbly, she hoped that burying the man - the Keiftan - would allow the spirits of Griffin and Woods to find peace too.

It was the only thought keeping her going.

//

She had dealt with a great deal of the dead before. It was fair to say that Waverly could handle that aspect of survival – was comfortable with it, even. But... The dead was restricted to creatures like birds and rabbits and squirrels (as an Outsider, you had to hunt for your food or risk starving to death) and most certainly did not cover things like other human beings. 

The Keiftan was her first, and she'd wanted to vomit the moment she had set eyes on him.

Dragging the dying man from the bushes to the place where she had dug his… his grave was unpleasant; but watching him drag himself along the ground, slowly as he grunted and squirmed in pain, blood smearing on the ground from his accumulated wounds, had been so much worse. 

“You're not leaving me like this, are you?” he asked, nervously, after Waverly finally – finally – managed to get him lying in the hole. Whilst her feet were itching to get up, get going, she couldn’t just turn her back on him now. She didn’t want his last image of the living to be their cruelty; though goodness knows it’s the one prominent feature of humanity sticking to her own mind.

“N-No, I'm going to find something to cover you. I promise.” She watched as he relaxed, and then made to turn away – but she didn’t get very far. “W-Who attacked you? Why did they attack you?”

“You don’t know? They are the ones who have returned!” He said.

Waverly wanted to snort at his simplicity. 

“Uhm, right… But _who_ are they, exactly?”

“We call them… Revenants.”

_Revenants_. The word sat funny in her mind, and she wished she’d never asked.  
_Of course. The Murderers in black... They had to be the Revenants._

“They did this to me because of...They mistook me for, they say - an _Out-sider_?”

Waverly froze. Briefly.

But the Keiftan noticed anyway.

“Ah, you know what that is, yes? What did the Out-sider do?”

"Nothing!" Waverly spat, irritation sparking in her chest as she defended who she was made to be, "Outsiders don't _do_ anything! We're the lowest of the low, those born outside of the village. We tend to their livestock if the village chief lets us. If they keep us.”

He contemplated her words, allowing her hurt and anger to dissolve, and his eyes drifted to the wound made by the Revenant's arrow. “Oh, you are a good person, Child, I can see it, but you are an Out-sider, correct? Which means the Revenants will continue hunt you down, wherever you go! They won't stop looking for you, because the life of an Outsider has become a _threat_ to their power!"

“That doesn’t even make sense – what have we ever done to them? What could we possibly _ever_ do to them?”

“Maybe nothing, maybe something… Power makes people do crazy things, my Child, and power is all they are after. There is only one way to be free of them, and the Fin People - oh the Fin People _know_ this. The Fin People know you, too, and they are seeking you!” He grinned as if he'd told a joke and Waverly thought him crazy.

She _really_ shouldn’t have asked.

“The _Sea_ will give you the answers you seek! The Fin People will find you, yes, and they will take you to their island! You will reach the sea-”

Waverly tried to interrupt his raving. “I'm not _going_ to the Sea, I can't-” 

“You must give it a lock of my hair-”

“Aren't you listening to me? I can't go to the Sea! I _can't_. I have to stay here - I need my sister…”

“Take it, Child, take-” The Keiftan fumbled with his knife and clumsily hacked at his own hair – his exhaustion and dwindling strength evident in his movements, for what should have been an easy task left the knife slipping between his fingers, lodged between himself and the dirt walls.

He dropped most of what he’d managed to collect when he thrust his palm in her face, and Waverly’s arms seemed to move themselves into his proximity. Without much thought, she was taking the hair in her hands and tying it around her belt.

“I'll take it! I'll take it,” She snapped, “And I'll be back, wait here. Just - I can't do anything more for you, I'm sorry.”

//

Twice she returned, each time struggling to push forward large rocks - the only thing she could think to cover the Keiftan with - and each time he murmured _on and on_ in sing-song about the Fin People. About how they would leap out of the Sea and fly, soaring through the sky; how they would fetch his spirit and take him to the Shining One.

Waverly didn't know who the Shining One was, nor much of Fin People - and the more and more the Keiftan talked about them, the less and less did she believe they existed.

By the third time she returned, he remained silent and it _hurt_. Pushing the last needed rock next to the others -next to him- Waverly's stomach dropped and she finally, finally, threw up.

The Keiftan stared up at her with eyes that would never see again.

His absence hit her harder than she'd expected, because however much his talking of the Sea had been frustrating, she had enjoyed the company.

She had _needed_ the company, the distraction.

Because now she was alone again, and in less than a day, she had suffered the loss of four.

_How many more will they take from me?_

In an attempt to distract her mind, Waverly quickly went to work, rolling the rocks the final distance to cover the Keiftan's body. She prayed to the Fin People, too; she couldn't go to the Sea, she couldn't give it the lock of hair like he had wanted, but she'd be damned if she didn't try something. The man deserved that much -

_The dagger_.

The Keiftan had said she could take the dagger.

Her eyes fell to the make-shift grave and her shoulders dropped.

_Shit_.

There was no way she was disturbing his already disturbed state. She would just have to find another, somehow. Somewhere. She could steal one, or maybe make - Waverly did a double-take. 

There, beside the grave, lay the dagger, tucked safely in its sheath. The one that should be buried beneath the earth, enclosed in eternal darkness.

Waverly replayed the memories in her head; he had fumbled around with it, she was sure of it, and... he had dropped it.

_Hadn’t he?_

Picking it up, she shrugged and attached the sheath to her belt. _He probably slipped it out whilst I was working. I wouldn’t have been looking then_.

Whatever the reason, there was no denying that it felt great to have a weapon pressed against her thigh, ready to be used in an instant if she so needed - whilst the weight of it was new and unfamiliar, it wasn’t unwelcome. A surge of power coursed through her body, and she set off with newly-discovered confidence and determination.

This time, nothing would stop her from making it to the village. 

She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, I wanted this to be a Clexa au - but I fell in love with this idea instead, and here we are... I did manage to sneak in a cheeky lil Clexa ref though ;)
> 
> Michelle Paver's series is honestly one of my favourites - this is literally just an attempt to get more people interested in it - because she puts so much research and care into her world building and character craft. Her Gods and Warriors series is set in Ancient Greece and takes place in the Bronze Age. Unfortunately, as a student, I don't have the time to be as accurate, and so we're just gonna pretend Waverly's world is all fantasy.
> 
> Also, this is my first time trying to write a work inspired by something else - hopefully I get used to it, so it doesn't feel like an exact replica.
> 
> Hmu on my tumblr/twitter (@sugarteabear).


End file.
